Galatius Maximum
by ImperialLegate
Summary: When Corvus Decimus Galatius and his unit of Praetorian Guard are summoned to Skyrim to fight for the Empire of Tamriel, they have no idea what they will find. Soon they unravel a conspiracy that threatens the Empire and indeed all of Tamriel, and Corvus' loyalties and skill are tested like never before. Rated T for language, violence and possible romance. First Fic, Please Review!
1. Welcome To The Old Kingdom

Chapter One: Welcome to the Old Kingdom

Rain.

Corvus Decimus Galatius hated rain.

Unfortunately, Falkreath Hold had an abundance of such weather, and today was no exception. The natural shower made quiet tapping sounds on Corvus' armor as his small party of men slowly plodded along. Corvus absentmindedly patted his helmet and felt the black horsehair plume sitting at the crest, straightening it with one hand while the other held onto the reins of his horse, General Valerian. He looked to his compatriot, Quintus Titus Metello. "I've always heard Skyrim was beautiful...this crap is making me doubt that." Quintus snickered. "I have absolutely no idea why Titus Mede wants us to hold onto this backwater of a province. When was the last time you saw a decent-looking woman here?" Inside his helmet, Corvus smiled. Quintus' mind always was on the ladies.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Corvus shuddered. He still was not fully used to the sound of such a phenomena. The Imperial City was always balmy and warm. He thought of his home, a large townhouse in the Elven Gardens district, where his family lived. His father was a military advisor to the Emperor, and held the rank of General. His mother, an Imperial aristocrat, was no "milk-drinker" as the Nords would call her, and had been honorably discharged from the Legion after serving her time as a field legate on the border with Hammerfell. If only they could see him now.

Corvus was a member of a special elite within the Imperial Army; he was a Praetorian. These men, all heavy infantry, were the best and brightest the Legion had to offer. Corvus had recently been assigned to the Fourth Legion under General Tullius, an old friend of his father's. The civil war in Skyrim had hit a stalemate and the Emperor had ordered a contingent of his best Praetorians to provide the Fourth with some much-needed staying power. His father and mother would of course be proud, but they probably expected more from Corvus. They always had. The Galatius family had always been proud soldiers, with their bloodline being traced to the army of Tiber Septim himself. In recent years they had done well; An Admiral Aurelius Galatius commanded the Imperial Navy, and Count Cicero Emmalianus Galatius sat on the throne of Anvil. Corvus was just another of his family to serve his Empire. Nothing more, nothing less.

His musings were interrupted by Quintus. "Hey, Corvus. We're here." Corvus surveyed the scene in front of him; Falkreath, the capital of the hold of the same name. "Dosen't look like much, Quintus." They both chuckled again. Indeed, this "city", could barely be called so. A motley collection of small huts behind decaying wood and stone walls. Corvus supposed the huts looked cozy enough though, and the guards on the walls looked vigilant and strong. _Perhaps this won't be so bad_, he thought. The small group of Praetorians, including Quintus, Corvus, and several others, dismounted their horses and gave the reins to a bystanding guard. The five of them made their way down the street, giving cordial "Good Evening, citizen." greetings to every person they saw. A group of children shadowed them from behind, fascinated by the tall men in heavy armor, with large shields and swords.

Their company commander, an older man named Gordanius Feletia, a Quaestor, called out to the squad that the tavern was on the right side. The small group of soldiers, accordingly, moved to the right side of the street and mounted the slightly raised tavern stoop. Gordanius took off his helmet and nodded at each of the men in turn. "Remember, no brawls or public drunkenness. We're here as models of Imperial virtue. Helmets off, too." The men grumbled affirmatively and removed their horsehair-plumed full-face helmets. Corvus brushed his light brown hair out of his face and to the side, and wiped his brow of the moisture that had accumulated. He was handsome, one could say, with sharp features and calm gray eyes, and the light tan most Imperials had. As a lad, he had been popular in school with the girls. As Gordanius pushed the door to the tavern open, Corvus followed, accompanied by the other Praetorians.

Inside was quite different from what Corvus was used to, and it took a second to fully understand. Buxom Nord women arm-wrestled on tables, clearly inebriated, as two half-clothed men took swings at each other next to the large, central hearth. A bard was singing a crude song about Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion, and his exact relation with his second in command, Galmar Stone-Fist. The food, at least, looked delicious, and the soldiers could barely wait to sink their teeth into a famous Nord venison patty. However, at the sight of the 5 Imperials entering the bar fully armored, the noise quieted and then stopped. The curious Nords gawked at the newcomers.

"Hello, citizens. Carry on. We are hear only for lodging and food.", said Gordanius. At this, the merriment resumed as Corvus and his company shuffled over to the bar. "'Allo gents, what can I do ya for today?" asked the bartender. Gordanius looked his company over. "5 pints of your finest, please, and 3 rooms." Quintus grumbled when Gordanius didn't order any meat, but a quick look from the Quaestor stopped him from saying anything rash. The Imperials got their drinks and sat at a large table on the side wall. "This place is...different, I think." This coming from the youngest member of their company, the son of a renowned soldier, Marius Hortalus. His father, Gaius Hortalus, had single-handedly vanquished a large gang of bandits threatening the road leading to Chorrol and had been showered with titles and riches every since. The rest of the group laughed; Marius was a bit naive, but still a tough soldier and very bright.

"It's a different damn country, boy!" roared Quintus, who along with the rest of the company had already received the revalation as soon as they entered the city. Gordanius interrupted and suggested that they hit the sack because the next day of travelling would be long and hard, and rumors abounded that Stormcloaks had set up a small camp halfway to Markarth, their next stop on the journey to Solitude to meet with General Tullius. The men, having finished their pints, retired to their rooms, doubling up with another soldier, one on the bed, one on the floor.

Corvus got to the room first and claimed the bed by placing his helmet and pack on it as Quintus staggered in, cursing when he saw that he must sleep on the floor. Both soldiers stripped down to their red tunics which they wore under their armor and curled up for sleep. Corvus found himself tired and the furs on the bed were surprisingly warm and comfortable. The sounds of the tavern just outside his door died out as he drifted into the first good sleep he had had since leaving the Imperial City.


	2. A Long Journey Ahead

Chapter Two: A Long Journey Ahead

It was early still when Corvus was wakened by some noisy crowing outside. He soon realized that it was a heavily-accented Nord voice in the town square. _Must be their form of herald_, he thought. Quintus was also roused and squinted in the early daylight. Corvus quickly straightened his tunic and pulled on his chainmail shirt, before wrapping his sword belt around his waist and tightening it. Finally, he combed a few fingers through his hair and splashed a bit of water under his armpits and onto his face. Feeling refreshed, Corvus walked outside and found that all of his fellow Praetorians had been woken up by the same voice. The fifth member of the small company, Constantius Sulla Tacitus, a culturally sensible younger man who was from Chorrol, was busy speaking to the town crier who just a moment ago was shouting news.

Constantius walked back over to the small knot of Imperials and shared the news with them. "It's Ulfric, the leader of the rebellion. They say he got captured by an ambush near the village of Helgen." The group nodded and smiled; this might mean their little tour of duty in Skyrim was over before it began. Gordanius, however, knew better. "We're still continuing on to Solitude until we get orders to do otherwise." The soldiers grumbled and muttered but they knew they had to. "Go get your armor and weapons on and ready. We're leaving in 15 minutes." Corvus and Quintus walked back inside, trailed by the other three.

He strapped his heavy breastplate and pauldrons on, then buckled his greaves and boots. The Imperial _pteruges_was next; he fastening the straps on the waist and tucked it under his breastplate. Finally, Corvus strapped his large shield to his back and put the helmet on his head. He had to admit, the Praetorian uniform was quite imposing. The closed face helmet and tall plume made the wearer look devilish and inhuman, and the armor was heavy and bulky, and extremely well-forged. He supposed the sword he wore around his waist was a bit short and maybe not the best for piercing armor, but it was light and quick and allowed for the rapid stabbing blows that Imperial tactics favored. The Praetorian Guard were trained to such a standard that Corvus almost felt like this blade was part of his body, an extension of his arm.

He stomped out into the main room of the tavern, which was quiet this early in the morning, and out onto the porch that led to the street. The rest of his squad had already gotten the horses and were saddling up. Corvus patted General Valerian's flank and began to strap the saddle on, wondering what they would encounter today. Falkreath Hold was mostly wilderness, and the Stormcloaks were known to ambush Imperials and foreigners in the deep woods. Corvus only hoped he wouldn't meet his end from a rusty rebel arrow, fired from someone he couldn't see. The company was relatively quiet as they mounted up and rode out of town, the steamy Falkreath weather causing each man to sweat profusely inside their heavy armor. _Cyrodiil was hot at times, sure, but it was never this damn humid_, Corvus thought to himself. _It's either snowing or unbearably humid here. What a province_.

An hour into their journey, Constantius insisted yhat he had to relieve himself, so they tied off the horses in a grove and dismounted for a quick break. After they all went the the bathroom, the men dug into their packs and got each a small paper-wrapped package of Imperial rations. Inside was a strip of chewy salted meat, some hard bread, and a little portion of dried fruit. It wasn't much, but it kept a man's spirit and strength up. The Praetorians sat in companionable silence, listening to the birds chirping and the trees shifting in the wind. As he sat, Corvus swore he could have heard something other than trees. He slowly stood up and looked about and just a second later he heard a sharp _Twang-THWAP_of a bow and instinctively ducked. An arrow thudded into the tree behind him and he drew his swords, the other Imperials doing the same. There was an unspoken agreement about them; they fought together, and died together. All soldiers did.

The group looked about for the source of the arrow and soon it came to them in the form of a dozen men screaming and yelling, charging out of the thicket. "For Ulfric! For Skyrim!", they shouted, whirling huge battleaxes and maces above their heads. As the Stormcloaks ran into the grove the Praetorians counter-charged, running into the fray with just their short swords. Corvus approached the nearest one, the big Nord sending an unwieldy blow to his chest. Corvus dodged back and to the side, catching the axehead on his superior-forged blade. He jerked his leg up and kneed the man in the balls before twisted his blade violently to the side, bringing the man closer. A stiff armed blow to the side of the Nord's helmet sent him spinning before the cold Imperial steel bit him through the back of the neck. Hearing more running footsteps Corvus wheeled around, sword in hand, and slashed the throat of another rebel who had come running from behind.

Across the grove, he saw that for the most part the rebel ambush had petered out, but now more arrows were flying from the trees, and hitting the ground and bushes around the Praetorians. The horses, panicked by the loud and sudden noises, were frantically neighing and bucking about. "To horse, boys!" bellowed Gordanius, and the Praetorians mounted and severed the ropes holding their horses with their swords. The arrows kept flying about and Corvus felt a brief biting pain in his left shoulder. General Valerian the horse bolted off, following the other horses of the company. These animals knew each other and trusted each other as much as the men who rode them did. As the arrows stopped when the archers realized the ambushees were out of range, Corvus twisted his head around and saw a white-feathered arrow sticking from his shoulder armor. He gingerly reached out and yanked at the arrow, the whole shaft and head coming unstuck, but sending a flash of white hot pain through his shoulder. He yelped out loud and the other Praetorians turned in their saddles to face him.

"It's nothing, just an arrow. Carry on." The soldiers complied and stayed quiet as they galloped out of the forest, leaving twelve dead Stormcloaks behind. After the soldiers decided that they were safe from the Stormcloaks, Quaestor Gordanius decided it best to reiterate the plan which they had formed on the ride from Cyrodiil. "Alright men, just to remind you. We'll ride all through the night today, and in the morning we will be in Markarth, the capital of the Reach. From there, it will be only a short joyride to Solitude, where we will meet with General Tullius to receive our orders. Is that clear?" The Praetorians replied in the affirmative and prepared themselves to combat a long night of drowsy riding and long, winding roads.


	3. All Roads Lead To

Chapter Three: All Roads Lead To…

_One and a half days later_

Their travels through the Reach had been long and harrowing. Dark, narrow roads lit only by the moon, strange sounds and lights in the many foothills, and even an unwelcome encounter with the natives known as the "Forsworn" that ended up with a good many dead bodies. Markarth was a wonderful city, but Corvus couldn't help but feel something odd and decrepit lurked in the very heart of the city. It had an air of corruption and vice that Corvus hadn't felt outside of Leyawiin. He couldn't place a finger on it, but his strong gut instinct told him to stay away from that region of Skyrim.

However, they had left the rocky foothills and twisting rivers of The Reach hours ago and were riding through the pleasant farmland and forests of Haafinger. One of the more populated holds, they had passed many a small, calm farming village with curious Nord peasants. The forests here were not dark and steamy like those of Falkreath; the trees were smaller, less mossy, and more open, and the roads were of good quality. As the group cantered into Dragons Bridge, they passed the Penitus Oculatus outpost. Two guards outside jerked to attention as the Praetorian Guards passed. "Up the Blues!" shouted Quintus, referring to the famous race in 4E 200 when the Praetorian-supported Blue Team had soundly beat their contender, the Penitus Oculatus supported Red Team. Such races were a major part of life in the Imperial City and indeed the Legion; each major branch of the Imperial Armed Forces supported a civilian racing team that they provided with coin, horses, and experience. The two Penitus Oculatus agents outside made a rather rude gesture with their fingers and then smiled, waving them on their way.

Corvus supposed that there was a good amount of comraderie within the Legion, between soldiers, officers, and branches. Something could be said for constantly striving for protection and risking your lives together. The roads outside of Dragon Bridge got even better as they approach Solitude. In the distance, Corvus could just make out the legendary Blue Palace sitting on top of the massive sea arch. They passed Imperial patrols on the road, who all waved hello, and even a Thalmor patrol. Corvus hated the Thalmor. They were arrogant, strict, and their armor looked ridiculous. He even heard rumors that they were ultra-racist as well, not that a mere Praetorian would know that.

Finally, the company of 5 Praetorians found themselves at a large gate, defended by a tower on the far right side. Two guards flanked the iron doorway, and waved them inside. They founded themselves in a small, wooded courtyard with a road that led to an even larger gate, flanked by two well-built stone towers. "See? This is almost like Cyrodiil, Corvus." said Quintus. He was quite the fan of large, familiar, stone-built structures; he had been the most uncomfortable in the town of Falkreath. These guards at the next gate were amiable, and quickly engaged Marius and Constantius in a conversation regarding how they used to be adventurers, and then were shot in the knee. Marius chuckled, saying what an improbable shot that was, but the guards swore on the Eight it was true. Eventually, Gordanius ordered the squad through the gate and into the city itself.

Solitude was a sight to behold. One of the largest cities in Skyrim, it was crammed full of Imperial-looking, well-built houses. The streets were clean and pleasant and the populace looked well-dressed and fed. Brightly colored banners were strung from houses, crisscrossing the street. A large tavern took up the whole left side of the main street, and adventurers, off-duty guards, and average citizens entered and exited. The men dismounted their horses and paid a guard 10 septims to take them to the stable outside the city. Then, they continued up the main street to a large switchback ramp which carried them to the second level of the city, where the military shops such as blacksmiths and fletchers were. Here also was the massive stone fortress which dominated the skyline of the city, Castle Dour. It was the military headquarters of the Fourth Legion, and it showed. Out in the courtyard, men sparred and shot arrows at targets, as battlemages talked and cast spells at a large block of hay. It exploded into flames brilliantly as one Imperial Battlemage shot a fireball from his hands at it, and then just as quickly was doused by ice from another.

Approaching a large tower set into the wall, the two guards outside asked for their names and purpose. "I am Quaestor Gordanius Feletia, of the Imperial Praetorian Guard. These are my men, Corvus Decimus Galatius, Quintus Titus Metello, Marius Hortalus, and Constantius Sulla Tacitus. We're here to meet General Tullius, about the war." The guard nodded slowly, obviously not comprehending the long list of aristocratic Imperial names that had just been rattled off to him. "Right….well the General is going to be late. Some unpleasantness in Helgen. Something about...Dragons."


	4. Dovahkiin

Two Days Later

Tullius had returned a day afterwards, burned, tired, and angry. He had ridden across Skyrim alone, or so he claimed. The dragon attack had decimated Helgen, according to him, and allowed Ulfric to escape. Corvus pondered this; could the dragon be Stormcloak born and bred? He thought dragons were the stuff of legends, told to frighten children. This dragon, said Tullius, shouted something in an odd language and then fire and death came raining from the sky. It looked like the end times. Corvus bought it, completely. Tullius seemed like a blunt, realistic man, who saw things for what they were. He liked that in an Imperial General.

The soldiers were introduced to Rikke, Tullius' second in command. Corvus guessed her age to be about thirty five, and she was pretty enough for that advancement in years. The wrinkles on her face from land days in the sun aged her prematurely though, and Corvus let such distracting thoughts leave his head. There were more important things to talk about.

"Gentlemen. We must turn our attention to this map of Skyrim, here." Tullius pointed to the large map of the province on the table in the war room, covered in flags, notes and markers. He pointed to a small flag marked in the middle of the map, south of the mountain Corvus knew to be called the "Throat of the World". "Here, gentlemen, is the Pass of Neugrad, protected by a crumbling city with a fortress. Our scouts report that Stormcloaks have subdued the local remaining populace and occupied the pass, cutting off trade and supply links to the 3rd and 8th divisions undertaking offensive operations in the Rift." The Praetorians nodded, listening. "I'm sending you and two cohorts of garrison from Falkreath to retake the pass and destroy the force there. Is that clear?" The soldiers nodded vigourously. "Yes Sir!" "Good. I expect to hear good news by the end of the week." The Praetorians saluted again and trooped out, saddling up and preparing their horses.

Three Days Later

The ride had taken them through the better-travelled paths in Skyrim, the Imperial Road from Solitude, through Haafinger, and the tip of Hjaalmarch. By the second day, the group was almost in Whiterun, the refreshed horses and good roads speeding them along. On the third, they were back down the Cyrodiil Road, which led to Bruma, and then the Imperial City. "Funny we're hear again, huh, Corvus?" said Constantius, pulling his mount up alongside Corvus' own horse. "I know; it's like we're repeating ourselves...long journeys, Nord villages, strange forests..." They both laughed, and the ride resumed in silence. By the next hour, the company of 5 had come to the meeting point with the two cohorts. A Nord man wearing heavy Imperial armor and a plain steel helmet approached. "Hallo Praetorians. I am Quaestor Hadvar, put in command of these two units to help you take the pass." Gordanius smiled and shook Hadvar's hand. "We're here to provide the core of your offensive. Where is the pass?" Hadvar pointed up to a small gap in the solid rock face of the mountain. The road wound up the mountain before entering it. "It's honeycombed with caves and ruins. The Ancients used this place as a fortification, and the Fort Neugrad itself is behind the pass. You'll need to sneak in some way and clear the archers so we can charge in and take out the rest." "That's a good idea. We'll scout ahead now and send you a signal when we're ready." The Praetorians moved up, ducking behind thickets and boulders to stop them Stormcloaks from seeing them. It was not more then 5 minutes before they came to a door hewn into the solid rock of the cliff. Strange dragon carvings sat atop pillars flanking the doorway.

The group ventured inside, peering around for guards. They saw two sitting at a decrepit table, drunk and passed out. Corvus and Marius went up and wrapped their arms around the guard's necks and pulled, hard. Shortly, a satisfying crack was heard and the two hapless Stormcloaks slumped forward. "See boys? This why we must stay professional!", Gordanius crowed. The others mumbled in consent and continued on. The hallway was strange; the stone was almost yellow, with moss and lichen growing all around. Lit torches hung at intervals and every once in a while there was a niche in the wall as if for a body. "This is an odd place." remarked Quintus. He shivered; the ruins were drafty and cold.

After those first guards, they ran into no more hostiles. That is, until they entered a large chamber. Rows of pillars marked with tattered banners flanked large pathways filled with rubble. In the sides of the walls, holes led to ruined cubbies and hallways. It was eerily quiet, and Corvus was immediatly on-guard. No echoes from falling stones or running water resounded throughout that cavern. It was silent. Constantius poked at a pile of rubble as the other four looked about. "I don't see where to go next, Gordanius..." chimed Marius. He always was stating the obvious, the unspoken truth that everyone already knew. Their contemplation was quickly interrupted by the sound of dozens of bows being drawn.

All about the little "ruined" holes in the walls were Stormcloaks, at least 30. They all had the same targets in mind, each arrow ready to strike forth with the fury of a god. The Praetorians had no chance. The soldiers gulped and swallowed, muttering some prayer to whichever god, praying that they be taken in honor and justice. But the archers never fired. Just as the captain, a rather dull fellow named Hamish, was about to give the order, a resounding boom filled the chamber and strange guttural words echoed through the room.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The room shook as many Stormcloaks were sent flying, ragdolled into pillars, and the Praetorians were knocked over by an immense force that hit them square in the chest. The next thing they knew arrows were flying about, from all sides and directions, and they quickly ducked behind pillars, avoiding the intense fight. After what seemed like ten hours, the cries from dying men and hissing of the arrows flying through the air calmed and then stopped. The soldiers were terrified. All eyes looked to the entryway, where from a cloud of dust emerged a petite woman.

"Hello boys. What a mess, eh?"


End file.
